


Fantasies

by cinemariel



Category: Down with Love (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 21:43:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9347564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinemariel/pseuds/cinemariel
Summary: "Nancy fantasized about him a lot. At work, at home, in bed, in the shower… and those weren’t the only places she thought about them doing it. She was lucky being a secretary was so unbelievably easy. Except for the one part of it that was unbearably hard."





	

Nancy fantasized about him a lot. At work, at home, in bed, in the shower… and those weren’t the only places she thought about them doing it. She was lucky being a secretary was so unbelievably easy. Except for the one part of it that was unbearably hard.  
The man she worked under.  
Catcher Block. His name was unavoidable. Catcher Block. Ladies Man, Man’s Man, Man About Town. He was absolutely everything people said. Everything and somehow, infuriatingly more. He was handsome, smart, intelligent, ambitious, and relentless. And she was completely invisible to him.  
But she saw everything. Every story, every hunch, and every impossibly beautiful girl he wanted more than anything in the world until he grew bored of her. 

She was so fiercely jealous of those girls. And so angry with them. She wanted to shake them every time she watched them gaze at Catcher with trusting eyes. How could they be so foolish?  
She knew how. And she’d never judge them for being unable to resist him. She thought about the few times she’d walk into his office to read his messages when he was changing his shirt.  
For other secretaries this would be an unusual occurrence. Seeing their boss half naked. But being Catcher’s secretary… Nancy was surprised she didn’t walk in on him more.  
The first time she had been woefully unprepared. And this one had been really unfair. He had just left his in office shower (really, how was she so attracted to this ridiculous man?). He was wearing nothing but a towel and his hair was still dripping all over the floor of his office.  
“Mr. Block, I’m so sorry!” Barbara averted her eyes immediately. She could feel an inordinate amount of blood rush to her cheeks as images of water droplets clinging to chest hair flooded her mind.  
“Nora?” she could hear how amused he sounded at her prudishness.  
“Nancy,” she corrected him for the umpteenth time. She was so annoyed she turned and looked him right in the eye.  
“Nancy,” he corrected himself, even more amused. “If we’re going to be working together, we’re going to have to get used to seeing each other in compromising positions.”  
If he expected her to squirm, she certainly wasn’t going to. Even though she felt weak at the knees she refused to let him know it.  
“I rarely find myself compromised, Mr. Block,” she told him in as even a voice as she could manage. “I have Mr. MacManus on line one for you. He claims that the Hawaiian climate is both too sunny and not sunny enough for him to relax as much as he had planned on his vacation. He seems quite distressed.”  
Catcher laughed. That warm, throaty laugh. Nancy imagined how wonderful it would be to wring that laugh out of him. To earn it.  
“Mac, Old Boy, how’s the tropics?”  
But her moment was up.  
It always was. Any time she saw a flicker of recognition, of interest in those startlingly blue eyes she was always shoved aside for something more exciting. A more beautiful girl, a more interesting story, a more powerful man with something supposedly more important to say…

One day at her desk, Barbara found herself drifting off. She imagined herself a cool blonde. Someone Catcher Block would go for. Someone who was head to toe glamorous, who turned heads the second she walked into the room. Someone the Ladies’ Man, Man’s Man, Man About Town could not possibly ignore.  
But she could ignore him. And God would it infuriate him. She imagined sitting at the bar, chatting up every man in a suit who wasn’t him. She saw herself throwing her head back and laughing and catching a glance at him out of the corner of her eye.  
She knew him. He would wait a while for her to come to him. Sure there would be other girls clamoring for his attention, other girls who would want nothing more than to go home with him. But not tonight. Because tonight, she was the one he wanted. And when Catcher Block wanted something, he got it. And for the first time in his life, she wanted to make him work for it.  
She’d have a friend. Girls like this blonde Nancy was pretending to be in her daydream always had friends. Someone confident and smart but less confident and smart than Blonde Nancy. Someone… brunette.  
“You do know that Catcher Block is staring at you?” the friend would ask.  
“Who?” She imagined herself cocking her head to the side. Her blonde hair falling in front of her face just so as she did it. Of course she knew who Catcher was. Everyone did. But pretending she didn’t would get just almost as much of a rise out of her as it would Catcher Block himself.  
“Who?” the brunette would cry. “The most eligible bachelor in the city.”  
“Never heard of him,” she’d tell say with a quirk of the eyebrow letting her friend know that she was all too aware of what she was doing.  
After an hour that would leave her fluttering with anticipation and him in near agony, he’d have no choice but to sidle up to her at the bar. She’d take out a cigarette, casually pretending not to notice him. She imagined feeling the warmth of his presence against her arm.  
“Need a light?” he’d ask.  
She’d peek up at him from under her eyelashes. She’d give him a wide eyed look of innocence with just a touch of satisfaction. Just enough to let him know that she knew she’d won.  
“Sure,” she’d say, placing the cigarette between her lips and staring at looking at him expectantly.  
She’d get a thrill as he fumbled—as much as Catcher Block could fumble—for his lighter. She’d lock eyes with him as he lit her cigarette, his hand cupped around the flame to protect it, but also to brush her cheek. Even thought it would be the faintest touch, she’d struggle not to blush. That tiny moment, the moment of first contact. That’s the one that could undo her. Once she was past it, nothing would stop her from getting what she wanted.  
She’d look away, losing the game of chicken no one else in the room knew they were playing. When she’d look back he’d be grinning.  
“Catcher Block,” he’d offer his hand for a shake. A challenge, are you going to flinch again.  
She’d take it, giving him a firm shake.  
“Barbara Novak,” she’d respond. Because this woman, this sophisticated blonde was not Nancy Brown. She was someone new entirely. And in that moment, Nancy loved being in her shoes.  
“I’ve never seen you here before,” Catch would say. Implying that he comes here all the time, this was his territory, a typical establishment of dominance. Well two could play at that game.  
“I’m new to town, so that makes sense,” she’d respond easily. “What do you do Mr. Block? Besides frequent this… establishment.”  
She’d watch the surprise color his face as she admitted she didn’t know him and thought his exclusive club was distasteful in the same breath. She’d let a smile cross her lips, a celebration of her victory over him.  
“Would you like to know me?” he’d lean in, wisely playing on her apparent weakness to his touch. And it would nearly work. Her head would swim and her breath would catch in her throat.  
But visually, all she’d offer him was a raised eyebrow. A non-verbal, really?  
“… a little better?” he’d stumble to correct.  
“A little better… how?” she’d counter, leaning in a bit herself.  
“Ask away.”  
“Where do you work?”  
“Know Magazine,” he’d reply.  
“No!” she’d allow him the thrill of impressing her.  
“Yes,” he’d assure her.  
“So you’re a reporter?” she’d ask.  
“An investigative reporter,” he’d correct.  
“And what do you investigate?”  
“Lots of things,” he’d answer. “I look for stories…”  
She’d lean forward to grab a drink giving him a perfect view of the neckline on her dress and a whiff of her perfume.  
“Do you see one here?” she’d ask. 

The night would continue like that. Finally, he’d offer to show her the city, she’d let him know she was perfectly capable of finding her own way but why not. As they’d walk together in a dimly lit Manhattan looking up at all the lights on in all the windows in all the skyscrapers she’d feel alive and finally brave enough to ask for what she really wanted.  
“What else do you want to show me?” she’d ask, letting her lips remain parted as she looked up at him, her heart thrumming in her chest.  
“Whatever you want to see,” he’d answer, leaning towards her.  
They’d be near his place. He would have engineered it just so. And for the first time that night, she’d be visibly grateful for his not so subtle games of dominance and deception. Because now it would be convenient, more than convenient. Necessary.  
As they entered his apartment she’d see that it was full of every possible object that could exist to woo a woman. But she wouldn’t need those. She would be fully and completely seduced. And so would he.  
His mouth would move urgently against her, almost as if he was hungry. It wouldn’t be like the confident kisses she’d seen him plant on stewardesses and dignitaries wives this would be a kiss she’d earn. As they’d collapse onto the bed he’d reach for the buttons on his shirt but she’d stop him.  
Still seated on the bed, knees touching, she’d place his hand on the zipper of her dress. This would make their chests nearly flush against each other, as she’d unbutton his shirt. They’d undress each other making occasionally burning eye contact or just taking a moment to look at each other while the other was focused on a button or a zipper. She’d feel the heat of his breath against her cheeks, her neck. And she’d need to feel more before the night was through.  
His weight would press her down into the bed as he moved over her. She’d let her hands glide across his back as he kissed her harder and deeper. She’d drown in it. The feeling of his rough hands pushing the silky straps of her slip off her shoulders, his teeth gently biting her neck, his knee inserting its way between her thighs…  
He’d take it slow for her. Because after the long night he’d spent trying to get her he’d be a fool not to savor this woman. But eventually his kisses and his touches would be too close to what she wanted to bear.  
He’d be teasing her, his hand up her slip, stroking her thigh with a feather light touch that was filling her body with heat. She’d hear him chuckle and finally, tired of the game, she’d feel his length through his underwear with the palm of her hand. She’d relish in the shudder that would go through him, she’d revel in the feeling of control. Wanting more she’d slide her hand through the waistband and feel him against her skin.  
He’d groan, thrusting into her hand.  
“Barbara,” he’d whisper.  
“I know,” she’d say before ducking down and taking him in her mouth. As her tongue would glide over him she’d focus on the sounds he’d make and the way he gently cupped the back of her neck, not forcing himself down her throat but obviously a wish for her to stay. She’d put her own hand over his. Her silent way of telling him, I’m not going anywhere until you’re ready.  
Eventually she’d stop, she’d look at him, completely naked beneath her and grin.  
“Did I ruin my lipstick?”  
He’d pull her down on top of her, tearing at her clothes, pulling her slip over her head and peppering every inch of exposed skin with kisses. She’d laugh with amusement and joy and sheer happiness when he buried his head between her breasts, kissing the sensitive skin in between them.  
He’d roll them over so she was on her back again and touch her. His hand would find where she was most sensitive. At this point she would be very wet and she’d need him desperately. And he’d know that.  
He’d insert a finger and she’d whimper. Arching her back, trying to get him deeper inside her. He’d insert another but it still wasn’t enough. She would need him, all of him.  
“Catch, please,” she’d whisper, breathless. At this point who was in charge and who was winning the game they were playing would hardly seem to matter.  
“I know, he’d murmur, just making sure you’re ready to take me, love.”  
“I’m ready,” she’d breathe into his ear, one hand threaded through his hair, the other on his hip, urging him to come closer.  
Finally she’d feel him inside her. His first thrust would fill her completely and she’d moan against her will. But so would he. Together they would find a rhythm. She’d lift her hips and he’d lean forward, threading his fingers through hers with one hand while using the other to hover just above her.  
Eventually, she’d roll them over so she was on top. She’d pin him down with a hand on his chest and move slowly and deliberately, making him shudder.  
“Touch me,” she’d say, half commanding, half pleading. And he’d oblige her. She’d see the sparkle of admiration in his eye as she came over and over again, overtaken by how good it all felt.  
“What do you want?” she’d ask, eager to give it to him.  
Answering, he’d turn them over again. He’d hoist one of her legs above his hip and put his forehead against hers. He’d thrust again and again, filling her and making her bite down on her lip to keep from screaming in pleasure.  
Eventually, he’d finish, emitting a rough and gravely sound that she could feel rumbling in his chest. Spent, they’d lie together covered in sweat and goosebumps just wanting to feel each other’s warmth.  
But then… what?  
Then the fantasy ends. Even in the context of this fantasy… Barbara would go home to her no doubt cosmopolitan life, another woman on of Catcher Block’s one night stands. The chase would be over and he’d be on to the next.  
Unless, she found a way to extend the chase…  
But how could she convince him that she was worth the wait?  
And that’s when she decided to stop fantasizing and start planning.  
A week later, Nancy Brown handed in her letter of resignation to a very hungover Catcher Block.  
Six months, three weeks, four days, one manuscript, and two boxes of blonde hair dye later… Barbara Novak was born.


End file.
